A portrait, practice
The typical first-day biology work-sheet included the question, "What are your hobbies"? There was nothing I could write. There is nothing unique about my extracurricular activities and interests. I read sometimes. I write sometimes. I listen to French Canadian radio. I listen to an average of 67 songs per day. I play around on the piano, but anyone could tell I'm untrained by anyone but the writer of Piano for Idiots. I play around on my phone. I play Farmville. I rollerblade in the summer. I suck my abs in tight when I remember to feel guilty for not working out. I watch porn and think about how I should stop watching porn. I read raunchy fanfiction and sweet fanfiction. I read so much of it that I'm smug about things like bad grammar and poor continuity and character arcs and I've forgotten what it's like to start reading a piece not already in love with the characters. I get excited over interesting turns of phrase and colorful new slang. I worry that nothing else excites me. I feel like I spend most of my life in the tense moments between actions and decisions, waiting for something to happen.
There was nothing I could write. I wrote high diving.
There was nothing I could write. I wrote high diving.